Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (41 page)

Money shook his head. “No, I haven't,” he leaned forward on the table and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “What'd the lookouts have to say? Anybody else leaving at the same time?”

“Nope,” Jazz said. “Just these two. As matter of fact, they're the only ones who have been out of the compound since the Agent Michaels went missing.”

Money snapped his gaze toward Jazz. “First, that bitch is no agent. Secondly, have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

“No,” Jiggy said. “Not yet.”

Money grabbed a stack of Post-It notes and a pen from the center of the table and began to scribble. Then he ripped off the top sheet and handed the slip to Jiggy. “Call these guys. They're leading the investigation to find her.”

Jiggy scanned the note. “Kyle Oliver and Hopper Mack?”

“Yeah,” Money said. “They're co-case agents. They've been flooding this office with requests for information on activity at the compound. I'm sure they'll more than welcome your call. And Oliver is old school, whatever he tells you to do, that's what you do. He won't steer you wrong.”

“Roger that.”

“Now, if you'll both excuse me, my shift's about to begin. I'm on the detail to cover J.J. McCall until you find Michaels, so the sooner you guys figure out what the hell is going on, the sooner I can get back to the team.”

Chapter 21

Saturday Morning, November 7th—Irving Street

8 Days Left…

A brisk wind iced Lana's core as she rounded the corner from Irving onto 7
th
Street and headed north for six blocks. Max McCall's store was open and Lana had business with the new men in her life, but no one would die—not until she’d been extracted and was on her way to Moscow.

She’d exploit this opportunity to test Santino, to gauge the level of his felonious tendencies and the lengths he would go to pay back his twenty-five thousand favors.

She’d also introduce herself to Max McCall in a way that he would never suspect she had entered his life
to end it.

With her hoodie drawn over her head, she trudged face-down to minimize witnesses and pressed forward to meet her target eye-to-eye. The luminescent glow from the sun ensured no-one would question her dark sunglasses. She was, after all, a woman on the run.

Five minutes later she found it, McCall’s Grocery and Wine, a converted corner row-house with painted gray brick only three blocks away.

She peered through the beveled glass door before pushing her way inside, the jingle alerting her arrival. Then she took a moment to scan the layout before entering the fray. If all went according to plan, she only had moments to spare before the op went down. To the left of the narrow walkway, a tall black man with pepper-colored hair tapped the keys of the cash register behind the checkout counter. To the right, seven chest-high cramped aisles were loaded with grocery stock while glass-door refrigerators and freezers were lined up along back wall.   

Lana grabbed one of the black plastic handbaskets and pulled her grocery list from her hoodie pocket. Max McCall peered at her with a skeptical eye before they exchanged silent nods to greet one another. She perused each aisle, glancing at the door periodically and looking down at her watch. At 10:15, she grabbed a bag of Utz in the snack food aisle and dropped it on the floor. As she bent to pick it up, she heard the bell ring and a slam after a burst of cold air washed across her face. Seconds later, heavy footsteps padded toward the counter and stopped.

“Get your hands up!” the frantic man yelled. Lana scuttled to the end of the aisle, concealed behind a potato chip rack. She peered around the corner. The robber’s hands were jammed in his jacket pocket, and the distinct form of a barrel pointed toward Max McCall's head. “Gimme everything you got! Now!”

Keeping one palm raised, a panicked McCall fumbled to open the cash drawer but couldn't open it.

“Something’s wrong! The drawer’s stuck!”

“Shut up and hurry, old man! Don't make me pull the trigger,” he growled.

The caramel-skinned thief, dressed in black from head to toe, hovered nervously, his hand shaking. His face was largely concealed beneath his hood, and he stood about her height, maybe fifty pounds heavier. Obviously an amateur. Didn't even bother to check and see if anyone else was in the store. She shook her head.

Lana eyed the overhead shelf above McCall to assess the security system. With an FBI agent for a daughter, she felt certain one had been installed. She spotted two small white cameras, one trained on the door, and the other on the cash register itself. She wouldn't be seen.

“Move it! Now.” 

With the silence of a light wind, she stooped down and tipped behind the robber. Before he could turn to face her, she leaped, pulled her leg back, and with full power landed a front snap-kick with board-splitting force into his crotch, the crunch of his testicles almost audible.

His legs buckled as he howled like a wounded wolf and crumbled to his knees. Curled over and still gripping his nuts, she landed a second kick to the back of his head; he slammed face-first into the floor. Blood spurted from his nose, and his howls grew silent. She felt the outside of his pocket for the gun, careful to stay out of the camera's view or leave finger prints. Through the fabric, she felt the plastic weapon.

Max rushed to survey Lana's damage. When the robber began to squirm, Lana slammed her fist into his jaw, silencing him once more.

“Sweet Jesus Almighty,” Max yelled, thanking Lana profusely as he grabbed the handset from the phone behind the counter and dialed 9-1-1.

“You're welcome,” she said coolly, looking at her watch again. 10:20. “I'm...I've got an appointment. Trust me, he's not moving.” 

“The police will want to talk to you,” he said. “You're a witness.”

“You don't need me,” she pointed to the camera. “Just pull the tapes. You'll be fine from here.”

Still standing behind the man sprawled in the floor, Lana pretended to avoid stepping over him as she walked toward the refrigerator section before cutting sharply toward the door.

“Wait!” Max said, raising his hand in the air to gesture her to stop. “Please, take everything you need. It's on the house.”

Lana smiled. “That's very generous of you.” She stuffed her hands into to her hoodie pocket and lowered her head before reaching the camera's line of sight. “But I've got to go. Good luck. And do yourself a favor and get a panic button installed. There's a lot of shady characters in this neighborhood.” 

He nodded and waved goodbye as she exited.

As the sound of police sirens drew closer, Lana steps quickened and her breathing grew heavier. She broke into a slight jog and cut into an alleyway roughly three blocks away from Irving.

Minutes later, she burst through the front door of her temporary abode and leaped up every other step until she reached the upper level landing. She bent over and craned her neck to look beneath Santino's door and listened.

Is he here?

The door snatched open, startling Lana. She grabbed her chest. “Shit!”

“You shouldn't lurk outside people's rooms like that. Someone might think you're up to something.”

She exhaled and chuckled. “They'd probably be right.”

He waved her inside, backing up to his bed before taking a seat. “So, uh, how'd everything go?”

She leaned against the wall and examined her bruised knuckles. “Pure genius,” she said as she glided toward him stripping the hoodie over her head to reveal a form-fitting black camisole with her breasts seeping out of the cups. She relished in the power of her sexuality and never hesitated to leverage her looks against witless men. “Plastic gun. Nice touch.”

“We try. You’d be surprised what people will do for a couple Gs when they’re desperate for cash. I'll have my people spring him later today. You didn't hurt him too badly, did ya?”

“I could've done worse…oh wait, I almost forgot.” She disappeared to her bedroom and returned moments later with an envelope thick with fifty dollar bills. She slinked next to him and ran her fingers across the width of his chest before slapping his payment against it. “Can't thank you enough for your help.”

Santino opened the envelope and flipped through the cash. “This is more than double what we discussed.”

“Yeah,” Lana said. “You're strapped for cash right now, so let's call the extra a token of my appreciation and the beginning of a beautiful relationship...if you're willing to lend me your services again, that is.”

Santino locked his eyes on Lana's cleavage and his voice rumbled, “If this is the way you show your appreciation, I'm here for
whatever
you need.” 

He slipped his fingers beneath the straps on her shoulder then flashed a wide smile as he tried to expose her.

“There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I need another favor.”

Chapter 22

Sunday Brunch November 8
th
—Max McCall’s House

The wind spiked and whipped around Irving Street which was otherwise listless. Dressed in slacks and a button up suitable for a first-time meeting with his girlfriend’s father, Tony squinted and craned his neck to see past J.J. through the passenger window. He surveyed the area as the rain slammed against the three flights of concrete steps leading to Mr. McCall's front door. Dark clouds hung heavy overhead like the doubt in his mind. He wondered whether this visit was a good idea.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes,” J.J. said, glancing down to check the time. “Ten more minutes and it'll be time to eat. Listen, I realize you're a little anxious, but it’s best to just
rip
the Band-Aid.”

Few situations made Tony nervous in his lifetime, which spoke volumes given the nature of the family business. Meeting the Black Panther father of the woman he loved would rank somewhere in the top ten.

“Okay, okay. Let's do it.” Tony swung his feet onto the ground he peered at the house across the street from J.J.’s father to see a man hawking over him like a shadow from his past.

Tony locked glares with the familiar olive-skinned dark-haired figure before the slick New Yorker disappeared inside. Tony froze and his eyes widened as he surveyed the area, looking around for any untoward movement. After all the years of doubt and suspicion, Tony feared the order had been given and death was breathing down his neck. Maybe he’d wait until he caught Tony alone, with nothing between them except the truth and death—the family didn’t like witnesses.

He stepped out of the car and put his hand on the gun resting in the small of his back.

“Tony? Uhhh…everything okay?” J.J. asked, jarring him out of his thoughts. Her eyes locked on his hand.

Shaken, he turned to face her; she was already near the porch landing.  He sharply turned back to the door across the street, jerking his head left and right. But the street was bare. He shut the car door and ran up the stairs.

“You okay? Who was that?” J.J. asked.

“Probably nobody,” he lied. “Thought I recognized him, but I can't place his face right now. It’s nothing. Fuhghettaboudit.”

“Agh!” J.J. yelled, shooting him a side-long glance. The discomfort in her face was palpable.

He touched her shoulder. “
You
okay? You really need to get that thing of yours checked out.” 

As J.J. stuck her key in the lock, Tony peered over his shoulder again. A curtain in the upstairs window stirred as the thunder cracked, Mother Nature’s warning that another storm was brewing. And without his father’s protection, he would perish alone.

• • •

J.J. drew in a few deep breaths as she waited for Tony to make his way up the steps. He'd certainly piqued her curiosity, glaring at the handsome stranger across the street as if it was high noon at the OK Corral. She'd spent nearly every weekend at her father's house for brunch and had never noticed him or anyone moving in. Mr. O'Leary rented out the place from time to time, so she figured the guy must be a new tenant. But with what she now knew about the Bonannos and Lana, she’d be on guard for Tony’s sake and hers.

The moment they stepped inside the McCall’s humble abode, Tony asked, “You sure about this?”

J.J. dropped her purse on the couch and ushered him inside. “Please, stop worrying. We’re fine.” She attempted to convince herself as much as Tony. She patted his chest and rose to the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek, hoping to reassure him. “Trust me, he's going to love you...
someday
. And don't be alarmed by the pictures,” J.J. said, pointing to her father's Black Panther photos blanketing the walls. “He doesn't hate white people nearly as much as he used to.”

His eyes darted around the room, bulging as they scanned each photo of the rifle-toting, fist raising black men in black. Max McCall's home looked more like a civil rights museum than J.J.'s childhood home. “Used to?”

“Is that you, J.J.?” her father called.

“Yeah, Dad. Just a sec,” she said, returning her voice to a whisper. “So, three things. First, please don't step into the kitchen without washing your hands. He's fanatical about bacteria. Powder room is on the left.”

He nodded. “Gotcha. My mother's the same way.”

“Always address him as 'sir.' It'll reduce the number of reasons he has to pick with you.” 

“And third?”

She smiled and said, “I love you.” Then she mumbled, “And I hope you still love me when this is over.”    

Moments later, J.J. watched Tony suck in a deep breath as he stepped out of the bathroom. He smiled at J.J. and sniffed. The smell of bacon and warm bread wafted through the air and drew them into the kitchen.

“All right. Here we go,” J.J. whispered. “Your gun's in the car, right?”

He chuckled.

They entered the kitchen, greeted by Malcolm's smile and Max McCall's skeptical glare. “Well, well, well.”

“Hi, Mr. McCall. Pleasure to meet you,” Tony said, extending his hand. A wave of relief appeared to wash over him when Max returned the favor.

“I'm sure,” Max said. “Come on in and have a seat. Finishing up breakfast right now.”

“Everything smells great. Appreciate you having me ova.” Tony surveyed the table for empty seats and took the one nearest Malcolm, his other ally. He was the slightly younger, male version of his sister, equally brown and trim, but a few inches taller than her five-ten frame and his hair was cut close. “Hey Malcolm, good to see you again.”

“So, you work with J.J., huh?” Max asked, his eyes fixed on Tony.

“Yes, Dad,” J.J. answered. “We're co-case agents. I told you.”

“I know. I know. We’re making small talk, J.J. Settle yourself down. This is the easy part.”

Tony shook his head at Max and then turned to J.J. “What he said. Go ahead and fix your plate. You look hungry.”

J.J. patted his arm and moved toward the stove.

“So, Tony,” Max said, pointing his spatula in Tony’s direction. “
You're
Italian. What did
you
think of
The Godfather
?”

“Daaaad!” J.J. cringed and let out an extended whine. His question was wrong on so many levels but sadly not surprising.

“Relax,” Max said. “At least I haven’t asked him about his credit score…
yet
.”

She clenched her eyes shut and prayed for a distraction. Anything to change the subject of this conversation before he or Tony spoke a single syllable they couldn't take back. No sooner than the thought crossed her mind, the doorbell rang.

“I'll go grab that,” Malcolm said, jumping up from the table, seemingly as relieved by the interruptions as J.J. Before leaving the kitchen, Malcolm leaned into J.J. and whispered, “Don't let them finish without me. This is getting good!”

“I wonder who's visiting at this time of morning,” Max said. “Nobody in our family interrupts brunch day.”

A few moments later, Malcolm entered the kitchen his eyes wide, his expression sheepish. He slipped into his seat and began to cough uncontrollably. 

“Who was that, Malcolm?” J.J. asked.

Her brother held up his hand and grunted, attempting to clear his throat. “Grayson,” he coughed out in a muffled grumble.

J.J.'s eyes narrowed then bulged wide open when the large chocolate frame appeared, her favorite cologne now choking the oxygen from her lungs. 

M&Ms
, she thought,
I need M&Ms
.

“Good morning! Good morning!” Six bellowed. His voice fell on J.J. like a sledgehammer. He sauntered in dressed to the nines in his tailored suit and fresh haircut, his cologne arriving thirty seconds before he did. “Hope I'm not intruding.”  

“Yes, you are!” J.J. snapped. Six moved toward her and attempted a kiss on the cheek, but she snapped her head back out of range, gave him
the hand.
Then she gently nudged him back a step or two. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Watch your language Jasmine Jones McCall!” Max said. It was never a good sign when Max barked three of her four names. All four names was the worst. “Ain't nobody in this house grown but me. Besides, what kind of way is that to treat our guest?” Max said. “Six! I can’t tell you
how happy
I am to see you…but I’ll give it a shot if you pull up a seat. We're just fixin' to eat.”

“How is the beautiful McCall family doing on this fine Sunday?!” he asked, smiling like a Cheshire cat in a cardboard box.

“Fantastic...now that
you're
back in town.” Max beamed from ear-to-ear. Unlike everyone else in the room, he seemed completely comfortable, unsurprised by Six's appearance.

Her father’s profuse joy struck a bell. J.J. realized what happened. She'd been set up by “the man.” Her father was on a mission to rid himself of Tony. She wouldn't have taken her father for the unscrupulous type. The nerve and the gall. Merrily extending an invitation to Tony and inviting the snake. She cut her eyes at her so-called father, a cold expression that was met by Max's wide grin.

“You know I wouldn't miss this for the wor—” Six's eyes locked on Tony. “Ohh ho ho, we have company this morning. Good to see ya again, man.” He held out his hand to shake Tony's, who reluctantly returned the favor. He shifted his gaze between Tony and J.J. “What brings
you
here? Wait a minute, wait a minute. You two are a—,” he began before Tony interjected.

“Uhhh, we're on our way to...take care of some Bureau business,” he lied.

“Oh? Anything I need to be aware of? After all, we're in this together now. Partners in crime, so to speak,” he said, finishing with a hard, fake chuckle.

He he he,
J.J. mocked.

“It’s strictly need-to-know…and you don’t,” J.J. said to Six. “Now, back to my question. What the hell are you doing here?” J.J.'s jaw tightened as she tapped her foot heavily against the floor. 

“I’m hurt, J.J.” Six pressed his hand to his heart. “You know I'd never miss one of Mr. McCall's breakfasts if I'm in town.”

Angry enough to punch the pigment out of his cocoa-colored skin, she couldn't force him to leave but she could make him sufficiently uncomfortable to ensure he didn't prolong his stay. “Well, since we're used to seeing your back as you run out the door, how soon can you make that hap—”

“Uhhh, so how long you in town for?” Malcolm asked, in an obvious attempt to keep the conversation light and his sister at bay.

“Depends on how long it takes for your sister to come to her senses,” he said, laughing. Then he locked eyes with Tony and forced that annoying laugh again. “Just kidding.”

A series of beeps sounded from the coffeemaker.

“Coffee's ready. Who's pouring?” Max called out.

“Let me do the honors,” Six said, lifting the steaming carafe. “Mmm. Smell that aroma. Comes from only the darkest, richest beans. I suppose we should serve our guest first. Coffee, Tony?”

“Mmm, you're right. Thanks, man,” Tony said. “Steaming hot and black. My favorite.”

Six stopped pouring mid-cup. “You sure you can handle it?” he asked Tony. “Mr. McCall makes his coffee pretty strong. It's not for the weak and weary. Keeps you going all day long.”

“Oh, I can handle it,” he said. “I can drink it at all times of the day and night.”

Six’s eyes rolled before they narrowed. “Coffee for you, J.J.?” Six said. “You still take yours
black
, don't you?” 

“No, not anymore. Makes me sick to my stomach. Now, I take mine with
cream
. Lots of
cream
.” J.J. said, glaring at Six. “In fact, the
creamier
the better!”

“We don't keep no
cream
in this house,” Max interjected, his eyes squinted at J.J. “Cream weakens the coffee. Black coffee is strong, better for you, too.”

Six exposed a wry smile. Max was on his side and always would be against Tony. But unfortunately for him, Max's vote wasn't powerful enough to take Tony out of the running.

“You're mistaken, Dad. Cream doesn't weaken the coffee, only gives it a richer flavor.”

Six cleared his throat and eased around Tony. He held the carafe over Malcolm’s cup. “How about you, Malcolm?”

Malcolm's eyes darted back and forth between each of them, the subtext apparently not lost on him. The final vote was his and his alone. Who would it be? The guy who made her crazy or the guy he hardly knew?  J.J. narrowed her hardened gaze as if to dare him to pick sides. He placed his hand over his cup. “Uhhh...orange juice for me. Thanks.”

• • •

The sound of forks clanking against her mother's china was the only noise that broke the strained silence. J.J. simmered as she quickly plowed through her breakfast and Tony followed her lead, gobbling down their eggs and gulping their coffee in a manner that would impress a Marine recruit on the first day of boot camp.

The nerve of her father imposing on her life...as usual. What did she expect really? Open arms and an invite to the Panther meeting? Perhaps she hoped beyond reason that he would display a sliver of the respect he and her mother had spent so many years instilling in her as a child.